Albatross
by Seriously Sam
Summary: The first time Dean Winchester was shot was when he was ten years old.
1. We All Fall Down

Title – Albratross

Summary – The first time Dean Winchester was shot was when he was ten years old.

_Part of __**The Dark Horse**__ series_

_"God save thee, ancient mariner! _

_From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-_

_Why look'st thou so? - With my crossbow _

_I shot the albatross."_

- "_The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"__ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

"**Albatross"**

"**Chapter One: We All Fall Down"**

**Western Pennsylvania **

**November 24, 1989**

The backdoor to the cabin was unlocked, which enabled John to conclude that these hunters were amateurs and idiots. Stepping into the little kitchenette, he pulled out a small flashlight from his leather jacket pocket. Caleb Lyons entered in behind him and decided to take the lead in the investigation. Honestly, John was glad he didn't have to use kid gloves with Caleb at the moment. He had been running on empty for the past week.

They entered one of the bedrooms. It looked ordinary enough. The bed was unmade, dirty clothes were strewn around the room. Walking to the closet, John opened it to see a bunch of plaid shirts hanging up. Pushing the clothes aside, there was a cabinet door in the very back of the closet. Opening it, he was faced with an arsenal of weapons.

"Caleb, over here," barked John harsher than he intended to.

The twenty-five year old ambled over to the closet and let out a whistle at all of the guns and various other weapons. Side-stepping John, he entered the closet and reached a hand forward to grab a shotgun. He took out one of the bullets and held it in his hand. John shined the light on it and the two inspected the bullet.

"I'd say it looks pretty damn similar," commented Caleb.

"I need more than _pretty damn_, Caleb," John snapped.

The younger hunter glanced up at and shook his head. John felt like punching the kid in the face but refrained himself from doing so. He knew any minute that some smartass remark was going to slip off his tongue like molasses.

"Whoa, Johnny, untwist your panties okay? I can't make a positive ID without comparing the bullets."

"I know that, but I want to be more than pretty sure about this."

"Look, the bullet they pried out of Dean was from this brand of shotgun. I can tell you that for sure. If it's the exact same gun… your guess is as good as mine."

There was a roar of an engine. John and Caleb froze. Setting the shotgun down on the ground, they backed out of the closet and closed it as silently as they could. John motioned for Caleb to hide behind the bedroom door. He backed up slowly, grabbing his gun from between the waistband of his jeans and the small of his back. A car door slammed shut and footfalls sounded on the porch.

John inched towards the nearest wall out of sight of the door. He hung in the shadows, his back flush with the wall. The door to the cabin opened and he held his breath. Footfalls sounded on the hardwood floor and grew closer. A shadow appeared in front of the door. The door opened further and the light was flicked on. John came face-to-face with the owner of the cabin.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man marched forward, closing the space between them. John only hoped that Caleb had enough sense to stay out of sight. He kicked off the wall and squared his shoulders ready to fight. Before he could register what happened, the guy's fist connected with his jaw in an uppercut.

**Western Pennsylvania**

**Eight Days Previous**

John Winchester had little faith in humanity. After the murder of his wife and the betrayal of his hunting mentor Daniel Elkins, John was convinced that there was little good in the world. In fact, the only good he saw was in the form of children. Dean and Sammy were the light of his normally dark life. They kept him sane. They kept him alive. Without them, John was sure he would have pointed a gun at his temple and pulled the trigger after watching Mary burst into flames.

Hunting quickly consumed John's life. There was not enough knowledge about supernatural creatures in the world to quench his thirst. Only after he found out what killed his wife and offed it himself would he find peace. He thought that if he could find the damn thing that ruined the Winchesters' lives, he could go back to being a normal dad who coached T-ball and took his sons to ball games. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that was far from the truth no matter how much he tried to deny it. Hunting became his life. Sometimes, he forgot that hunting wasn't everything.

Dean had been itching to go on a hunt with his father since he was five years old. Ever since he found out that there were creatures that went bump in the night, he was sold on the idea of hunting. He learned to shoot a gun at the age of six. He learned how to properly salt and burn a corpse by the age of seven. He even kept a little journal with him, writing small notes on everything supernatural that he learned from his father.

They were in Pennsylvania staying in some backwoods cabin in June. In the dead of night, people were winding up dead. For some reason, the thing only struck at night, which led John to believe it was some sort of supernatural creature. The bodies that were found were consistent with some sort of animal attack. The claw marks in the victims could not accurately be connected to any one animal.

John was cleaning his shotgun and getting bullets ready for some recon during the day. He was hoping he could find some tracks of the creature to get a better idea what he was hunting. It'd be safe in the daylight to do this, perhaps that's why he caved when his eldest son pleaded to go with him.

"I want to be a hunter, Dad," the ten-year-old explained in an unnaturally mature voice as he sat across from his father at the kitchen table.

"Listen, Dude," the nickname that Dean had started calling everybody rolled off his tongue without him even knowing it, "I think that's great, but you're ten years old."

"I can do this. I _want_ to do this."

Setting down the shotgun, John looked up at Dean. The kid's eyes were as wide as saucers, pleading with him to let him tag along. Sometimes, when John looked at Dean, all he could see was Mary. They had the same green eyes, the same array of freckles sprinkled across their nose and cheeks, the same coloring, the same facial expressions. When that happened, he always let Dean do what he wanted to. It was impossible to say no to the kid when he looked like his dead mother.

"The thing only attacks at night," explained John. "You can do recon with me today in the daylight. You're staying with Sammy tonight though."

A smirk worked its way onto Dean's face, and John knew that recon was sufficient enough to quench the kid's thirst for hunting in that moment. Although the glory of recon would only last for a few months before Dean wanted more. That's when the real trouble would happen.

John handed his eldest a shotgun and the kid stuffed extra bullets in his jacket pocket just in case. If there was a motto that John Winchester lived by it was _always be prepared_. Even though he knew the creature wouldn't be in the woods, he didn't want to take the slim chance that the thing migrated into daytime feedings.

Sammy was lounging on the couch in the living room watching television. He sniffed and rubbed the sleeve of his red hoodie under his nose. The kid had been getting over a nasty cold that had left him lackluster and quiet. That was a rarity in the Winchester household. Sammy was usually bouncing off the walls and talking a mile a minute.

John crouched down beside the couch and gently touched the kid's forehead. The kid didn't bother to protest. He was cool to the touch. John wanted to ensure the kid no longer had the low-grade fever of 100.

"Hey, Sammy, how you feeling?"

"Good," he replied as his gaze never left the television screen. Reaching for the remote, John turned off the TV. "_Daddy_!"

"Dean and I are going to go for a walk in the woods," John said in his usual rumble. "You are not to leave this couch, do you understand me? Just lie down and watch TV. Wait for your brother and me to get back before you move, okay? Don't answer the phone, don't answer the door."

"'Kay," he replied in a small voice.

John leaned in and gave Sam a kiss on the temple before handing him back the remote. Standing up, he made his way over to Dean who was ready to get out into the woods. He was practically bouncing in excitement. John laughed and picked up his own gun and shrugged on his jacket.

They walked in the woods side by side. Dean had the direct order to not leave his father's side. He followed diligently as his eyes wondered around the woods for signs of tracks or anything out of place.

They were in the woods for nearly a half hour without finding tracks or anything. John suggested they start back, and Dean reluctantly agreed. Fifteen minutes into their way back to the cabin, there was a noise behind them causing John to falter in his step. He turned around and glanced in the woods. Dean turned around also, his gun rising into the crook of his arm to take a shot if necessary.

There was a loud bang that resounded throughout the wooded area. John looked frantically to his right only to see that Dean was no longer standing next to him. Casting his eyes down, he saw Dean lying on the hard earth with a puddle of crimson surrounding him. He was instantly pale, his right hand clenching his left side. Crimson seeped through his white fingers.

John dropped down to his knees next to his son. Instantly, he applied pressure to the gunshot wound. Silent tears poured down the ten-year-old's speckled cheeks. His mouth was twisted in agony and his eyes were squinted shut. His chest rose and fell in rapid movement, loud gasps of air escaping his mouth.

"Dean, can you hear me? You with me?"

Tears clouded John's vision as he stared at his son's ghastly white face. His usually bright green eyes were quickly turning a dull, lackluster color. His lips were so white that they blended into his skin.

Blood coated John's shaking hand. He had to get Dean to a hospital and fast. Surgery was the only way he would survive. Cradling his son in his arms, the guns long forgotten, he ran towards the cabin as quickly as he could. Dean's body was limp in his arms, his head lolling in the crook of his elbow.

John kicked the door down to the cabin. He screamed for Sammy who came running into the kitchen. His eyes grew wide at the sight of his unconscious brother and all of the blood. John yelled at Sam to grab his keys, the afghan off the back of the couch, and get to the car.

Sam fumbled with the lock on the Impala, his hands shaking as John stood behind him with Dean cradled in his arms. Once the door was open, Sam scrambled into the back. Gently, John laid Dean down next to his brother. The shotgun shells fell out of his pocket and onto the floor. John ordered Sam to apply pressure on the wound and not let go.

"Dean?" gasped Sammy as tears rolled down his face. "Daddy, Dean won't answer!"

John didn't reply. Instead, he wrapped the afghan around Dean and Sammy before jumping into the front seat. Turning the engine over, he raced to the hospital. All the way to the hospital, he listened to Sammy's sobs and his heart beating fast within his chest. Never before had the possibility of losing one of his sons become so real.

Curses kept flooding his mind. How could he let Dean go out in the woods with him? It was irresponsible and just plain stupid. If anything happened to Dean, John would not survive the loss. Losing Mary had been hard enough. To lose Dean? It would be unbearable. It would take away what little will he had left to live.

The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever. When he finally arrived, he pulled the Impala up to the door of the emergency room and quickly gathered Dean up in his arms. He raced into the hospital, hoping that Sammy was right behind him.

"I need help! My son's been shot!" he screamed.

Two doctors and three nurses came rushing over to John. A nurse grabbed a gurney on her way towards them. John laid his unconscious son gently down. The doctors started talking rapidly and the word surgery rolled off the one doctor's tongue. John tried to follow them but the one nurse stopped him from going any further.

"I'm sorry, Sir, you can't go any further," she said gently.

"Daddy!" Sammy sobbed as his hand clenched his tightly.

"We're going to do everything we can for your son. Is there anything we should know before he goes into surgery? Any allergies or medical problems?"

"Uh… no. No, he's really healthy."

"Any allergies?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any family history we should be aware of?"

John blinked several times. He didn't know anything about Mary's side of the family, but he supposed they were healthy. He thought of his parents and relatives.

"Uh, his grandmother died of a stroke," he said as he thought of his own mother.

"Anything else?"

He tried to think of anything useful, but his mind drew a blank. His father was an alcoholic bum. His aunt had killed himself. Everyone else had died of old age or in an accident. They were a pretty lucky family.

"No, nothing."

"Okay, Mister…"

"Winchester. John Winchester. My son's name is Dean."

"Mister Winchester, go sit down. I'm going to go let the surgeons know what you just told me. I'll come out with updates as often as I can, okay?"

The nurse disappeared behind a pair of doors. Crouching down, John pulled his youngest into a bone-crushing hug. He buried his face into his mop of unruly brown curls and closed his eyes. Pulling out of the embrace, he hauled his youngest into his arms and carried him over to the nurses' station. Sitting him on the ledge of the desk, he asked for a phone.

Sammy's hands gripped his leather jacket, his head resting against his father's chest. John dialed the familiar Minnesota based number. It rang three times before the pastor picked up.

"Jim, it's John. Dean's been shot."

_"What? Dean's been shot? How did that happen?"_

John glanced at the nurses briefly before turning his attention back to Sammy. He ran his free hand through the child's fine hair and lazily rested a cheek against his head. He took a deep breath and found comfort in the smell of the baby shampoo that Dean insisted that they still buy because Sammy was the baby in the family. This only caused the small boy to huff and whine, exclaiming that he's six and six year olds were big boys.

"We were out in the woods," he said slowly. "I think a hunter was out there."

_"What makes you say there's another player in town? Why would a hunter shoot Dean?"_

"I don't know, Jim, alright, but that's what I'm thinking. Is there anyway to find out?"

_ "If there are other hunters in town? I'm sure with some digging you could probably figure it out. I don't really have the connections to do that. Irene, Caleb's sister-in-law, knows practically everyone in the hunting community. If anyone can find out, she can._"

John had met Irene Lyons a handful of times over the past five years. Her husband had been possessed by a demon and ridden so hard that he didn't survive the exorcism. While Caleb and his father broke out into the hunting world, Irene took a more subtle approach because she had a one-year-old baby to think about. She did a lot of research for hunters. The fact that her day job was a pharmaceutical sales rep made her popular among the hunting community. She easily supplied them with valuable drugs that they couldn't get otherwise.

"Thanks, Jim."

_"I'm going to get on the next plane out there. I'll fly into Pittsburgh and drive the rest of the way. It's about an hour outside of the city, correct?"_

"Yeah, Jim… thank you. Really, you have no idea what your friendship means to me."

_"Likewise, John. How is Sammy doing?"_

"He's sitting right here. Sammy, you wanna say hi to Pastor Jim?"

He handed the phone to his youngest child who lifted his head off his father's chest. Slowly, he put it to his ear and piped a very soft, "Hi." John glanced towards the doors where they took Dean to see if anyone was coming out with an update. He knew it couldn't have been more than ten minutes, but it felt like hours had passed. Glancing back at his son, he motioned with his hand to indicate he wanted the phone back.

"Daddy wants to talk to you. Bye, Pastor Jim."

"Hey, question real quick for you. Caleb's hunting with Jefferson right now, isn't he?"

_"Yes, they are in Ohio hunting a werewolf."_

"Do you happen to have their contact info?"

_"Caleb called last night, so I have the motel number. Why are you asking?"_

John searched for a pen at the nurses' station. He spotted one by the phone and snatched it. Clicking it, he glanced around for a piece of paper but failed to find any. Instead, he tested the pen out of his fingertip.

"I thought he mentioned he was going to be in Ohio. I need to call him and ask for a favor. Do you have the number?"

Holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he jotted the numbers down on his palm. He thanked the pastor and told him he'd see him soon before hanging up. He dialed the number on his palm and waited as it rang several times before a male voice picked up.

"Uh, Jefferson?"

_ "Who wants to know?"_

"It's John Winchester. I'm looking for Caleb."

_"Hold on. Hey, kid, Winchester is on the phone for you!"_

There was shuffling on the other end of the line. John clenched the phone tightly in his fist. With his free hand, he brushed a lock of hair out of Sammy's eyes. The kid looked miserable. His nose was red and eyes puffy from crying. His t-shirt and hands were covered in dried blood.

_"Hello?"_ Caleb answered hesitantly.

"It's John. Jim told me where you were staying. You're in Ohio?"

_"Yeah, why? You wanna take me out on a date, Johnny? Sorry, but I don't swing that way."_

"Can you shut your pie hole for a few minutes?" snapped John. "I'm in Pennsylvania and Dean's been shot."

_"How the hell did Dean get shot?"_

Looking around at the nurses' station, he noticed that all of the nurses had dispensed from the are. One lingered towards the back of the station filing folders into cabinets. She looked back every now and then to see if anyone needed help.

"I let him do some recon with me. This thing only attacks at night, I thought he was safe to come with me during the day. I don't think we were the only hunters there though. I think a hunter shot my son," he said in a low voice.

_"Fuck, Johnny, did you get a good look at him?"_

"No, I didn't see the bastard. I hear your sister-in-law can find out who all the players are in a fifty mile radius."

_"Yeah, Irene has a lot of hunting contacts, because they love to hit her up for drugs. She needs dossiers on all of the hunters she deals with to ensure she doesn't give them something they can't have."_

"Can she do this without my name being brought up?"

_"I'm going to have to tell her the truth of what happened or else she won't do it. She likes Dean a lot, probably because he's the same age as Kenley."_

Kenley was Caleb's niece. Her mother brought her to all of Pastor Jim's church picnics. Whenever Caleb was free, he would babysit her. Ever since her father died, Caleb tried to be a surrogate dad to the girl. Sammy and Dean had met Kenley countless amounts of times. She had taken an unusually liking to Dean. Irene and Jim thought they were the cutest kid couple.

"Yeah, I remember. They get along great."

_"I'll tell her to keep the reason why she wants to know on the DL. She'll think of something to say."_

"Thank her for me."

_"I will. Hey, Johnny, I'm hunting with Jefferson right now. I'm going to tell him I need to bow out of this hunt. I can be at the hospital by tonight."_

"You know, I actually needed your help so I was going to ask if you could get out of the hunt."

_"What do you need?"_

"We're staying at Jefferson's cabin, he can give you the address. In the woods behind the cabin, about a ten-minute walk in, there are two unregistered shotguns with Dean and mine prints on them. Grab them for me. Also, can you grab Sammy and me a change of clothes? We're covered in blood."

_"Yeah, no biggie. I'll leave right away. Try to stall the cops are long as you can, gimme time to swipe the guns."_

John looked around the waiting room of the emergency room. The cops had not arrived yet, and he thought he'd have another half hour of waiting. He could easily keep the guys on the case at the hospital for a while. He just needed Caleb to hurry up and get on the damn road.

"They're not even here yet, but I'll keep them as long as I can."

_ "See ya, Johnny."_

The line went dead and he rested the phone back down on its cradle. Glancing over at his youngest, he watched as Sam sniffed and swiped his hoodie under his nose. His free hand gently held onto his father's old leather jacket.

"Excuse me, Mister Winchester?"

John turned around to see a nurse standing behind him with a tight smile on her face. His heart skipped a beat. If they were already updating him on Dean than that meant…

"Is that your car outside the ER?"

A wave of relief washed over him. A puff of air escaped his lips as he nodded his head in the positive. He racked a hand through his unruly hair.

"Can you move it? It's illegally parked. The ambulances park there."

"Yeah, sure, no problem."

Sliding his hands underneath Sammy's armpits, he hoisted the kid down from his perch on the nurses' station. Settling him on his feet, he grasped the boy's hand into his own as they made their way to the Impala.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the story! I'm going to try to keep it around a five or six chapter story. Please, leave a review and let me know what you think! Reviews help me write faster. :)


	2. The Smoking Gun

"**Albatross"**

"**Chapter Two: The Smoking Gun"**

John had been sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair for nearly forty-five minutes. Curled up in his arms was his six-year-old son, who had fallen into a restless slumber a mere ten minutes previous. His back ached and his legs had started to go numb due to the fact that Sammy wasn't as light as he was a year ago. Although, whenever the kid was sick or upset, he wanted to be held in his father's arms. John could not deny his son that simple comfort.

Two police officers walked into the emergency room, and John knew immediately they were there to question him about the shooting. He tried to get his story straight in his head while sitting in the waiting room, leaving out the information about hunting and keeping it concurrent with what his youngest would say, but his mind always drifted back to Dean who was out cold in some surgical room being operated on.

The officers made their way towards John and Sammy. His grip tightened unconsciously around the tiny boy, stirring him out of his light nap. He glanced up at his father, rubbing his fists into his eyes to get the crusts of sleep out of the corner of his tear ducts.

"John Winchester?" one of the officers asked as they loomed over the two.

"Yeah."

"We'd like to question you and your son about the shooting."

John nodded and brushed some stray locks out of his youngest eyes. Standing up, he gently eased Sammy onto his own two feet. The kid immediately backed up against his father's legs and stared up with wide eyes at the officers. After years of John bitching about law enforcement, Sammy developed his own preconceived notions as well.

"Would it be possible to talk to you two separately?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

John crouched down and tugged Sammy's arm slightly so that they were face to face. Forcing a reassuring smile on his face, he told his son to go with the other police officer across the room and answer the questions as honestly as he could. When Sammy protested, John said that he would be in eyesight the entire time. Reluctantly, with tears brimming his chocolate eyes, he nodded in defeat.

He watched his son march across the waiting room, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and watery eyes never leaving his father's face. John felt as though a vice grip was tightening around his heart as he stared at his youngest son.

"Can you tell me how your son was shot?"

John snapped his attention away from his son and cleared his throat. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a deep breath and started his story.

"Dean wanted to go for a walk in the woods. He loves the outdoors, you know? So I said we could. Sammy stayed inside. He was just getting over being sick, so I set him up in front of the television and told him to stay put until we got back. We went into the woods and walked around for a bit. On our way back to the cabin, I heard someone walking behind us. The leaves were crunching. Then… the shot was fired and Dean was on the ground. There was blood everywhere. I carried him back to the cabin, grabbed Sammy, and we came straight here."

"Do you own any guns, Mister Winchester?"

A scoff worked its way up John's throat as his gaze lingered behind the officer to Sammy. The kid was sitting on a couch, his legs swinging idly. His gaze was focused on his father as his lips moved to answer the questions of the officer.

"You think I shot my own son?" he asked as his gaze snapped to the officer.

"It's just a routine question."

"Yeah, I own a couple of guns, but I have a carrying permit issued in the state of Kansas."

"What kind of guns?"

John thought about his vast collection of guns and tried to remember which ones he got before he started hunting. Those were the only ones he had permits for. All the other ones he got from hunting arms dealers. It was pointless to register them all and a dangerous thing to do according to Daniel Elkins. The fewer breadcrumbs that connected his name to criminal investigations were essential.

"A couple of handguns. I got them shortly after I got back to Vietnam."

"Do you remember anything about the person who shot your son?"

"I didn't see him. I just heard his footfalls in the distance."

A doctor in surgical scrubs appeared in the waiting room, her eyes glancing around until they rested on John. He excused himself from the officer and made his way towards the doctor. He stopped breathing momentarily as he waited for the words to escape her lips.

"Mister Winchester?"

"Yes…"

Sammy had broken away from the other officer and ran towards his father with fear evident in his eyes. His arms wrapped around his father's legs and hugged them close to his chest. John rested a hand on the kid's head to calm him.

"The bullet was lodged in your son's spleen. The damage was extensive, so we have to remove his spleen."

"Remove his spleen? Is that… is that bad? Can he live without a spleen?"

Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he wished he had paid more attention in his high school anatomy class.

"Technically, yes, your son can live without a spleen. It makes him more likely to develop infections. You'll need to ensure that he gets annual vaccines and he'll need to be on an antibiotic to help his body fight off potential infections."

"He'll need to be on antibiotics his whole life?"

"As a child, yes, he'll need antibiotics for awhile. Most adults can function without antibiotics long term though."

Running a hand down his face, John let out a sigh of relief. At least Dean would live. Reaching down, he gently tugged Sammy away from his legs and lifted him up into his arms. The kid immediately tried to bury himself in his father's arms. John struggled slightly to hold him as he was quickly growing too big to be held in his arms.

"He's doing okay though?"

"There was a lot of blood loss so we had to give him two blood transfusions."

"Are there any complications to this surgery he's in now?" questioned John.

"With any surgery, there are risks. Your son is in good hands, Mister Winchester. One of the best surgeons in this hospital is removing the spleen as we speak."

"Thank you."

John held his son close to his chest, his cheek resting idly on the top of his curly mess of locks. The doctor disappeared through the double doors. Moments later, a nurse moved him to the surgical waiting room. He took a seat on one of the couches and held Sammy close to his chest.

An hour later, John rolled his head to the right and then to the left. His neck cracked loudly in the process. Sammy moved and buried himself into his father's side. He didn't say much, which was unusual for the tiny child. He usually talked a mile a minute and bounced off the walls. The thought of his beloved older brother hurt had affected Sammy greatly. He didn't feel much like talking and the very thought of his father leaving his side was incomprehensible.

It wasn't long before Caleb Lyons came ambling into the waiting room with a plastic bag dangling from his fingertips. He closed the space between them and took a seat next to Sammy. Throwing the bag onto the coffee table, he gently tapped Sammy on his arm in greeting. The child peered over at him but said nothing.

"I got a speeding ticket on the way over here," Caleb greeted. "You're going to fork over the cash for it, right?"

"Did you get the guns?" John ignored the question altogether.

"Of course, I got the guns. Did you not hear that I got a speeding ticket in order to get them?"

John didn't reply. Instead, he leaned forward and glanced into the bag of clothes. Sammy sat up also, his gaze drifting from Caleb to his father.

"How's Dean?" the younger hunter asked.

"Still in surgery. The bullet got lodged in his spleen so they have to remove it."

"Shit, Johnny. How much longer is he going to be in surgery?"

"I have no idea. Watch for a doctor, we're gonna go get changed outta these clothes."

"I don't blame you. You two look like you just came out of a slasher movie."

Grabbing the plastic bag, John stood up and held out his hand for his youngest. The kid took it immediately and followed his father into the nearest restroom. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie from the bag and handed them to Sammy. The kid walked into the nearest stall to change. John did the same, feeling relieved to peel off the blood drenched clothes.

After changing, he stood in front of the sink and washed his hands, arms, and face to get rid of the caked blood. He instructed Sammy to do the same. Throwing the stained clothes into the waste bin, he led Sammy back to the waiting room and took their spot next to Caleb.

"Do you guys need anything?" he inquired.

"I'm good. You want anything, Sammy? Caleb will get you anything you want."

"I want Dean…" he replied in a small voice and leaned against his father's side.

Caleb and John didn't reply. Instead, they leaned back into the uncomfortable couch in silence. John gently played with Sammy's fine hair. The action always put the kid to sleep nearly instantly. After five minutes, Sammy's breathing evened out as he slipped into another restless sleep.

"I called Irene," announced Caleb. "She's checking to see what hunters are in the area."

John nodded as his arm tightened around his youngest unconsciously. Even if Irene found out which hunter was in the area, he didn't know what he would do. Part of him wanted to kill the guy or at least lodge a bullet into him. The other half told him to go to the police and get the guy locked up in a nice cell. Although, there probably wouldn't be enough evidence to convict, because they would have wiped their prints and ditched the gun if they had a lick of sense.

"Good."

"John," Caleb said evenly as he leaned forward and looked over at his friend, "what makes you think a hunter did this?"

"Who else would be out in those woods?"

"It is hunting season. It could have been just some trigger happy fuck who isn't a hunter like us."

John glanced over at his friend. It could have been just a regular guy who was trigger happy in the heart of hunting season. Except, because of the recent deaths in those woods, they were off limits to all forms of hunting for the time being. If it was just a regular guy looking to get a buck, than he was doing so illegally and wouldn't have been dumb enough to shoot so recklessly. There were signs all around the wooded area. Everyone knew about it.

"It's closed to all hunting because of the recent deaths."

"The thing you're hunting. What is it?" questioned Caleb.

"I have no idea. It strikes only at night. It's consistent to an animal attack but the coroner can't place the animal. A wildlife expert even came in to examine the bodies and they were stumped. It's nothing they've ever seen before."

"So a hunter shot Dean… what are you going to do if Irene finds him?"

"Honestly, I don't have a clue. What am I supposed to do?"

"Kill the bastard."

John didn't reply. He merely nodded his head in agreement. The two made small talk for the next several hours as they waited for Dean to get out of surgery. Every hour that passed was excruciating.

After what seemed like days, the surgeon finally entered into the waiting room and walked towards the small family on the couch. He immediately said that Dean was all right and was currently in recovery.

"I want to keep him here for a few days just to ensure that there are no complications from the surgery."

"What kind of complications could arise?" questioned John.

"With a splenectomy, the big issue in children is an infection or sepsis. The spleen helps to fight off infections and filters the blood. Therefore, infections can be dangerous until other organs start to take over the tasks of the removed spleen. Another things we're going to look out for are a blood clot, abscess, a possible collapsed lung, a hernia. All of these complications usually happen during the surgery or shortly after."

John felt like he had been kicked in the stomach at the possible complications. Dean was just ten years old. Being shot was more than any child should have to deal with, but now he was without a spleen and could possibly have an array of complications. John felt sick.

"If in a couple of days we see none of these complications, we'll release him from the hospital. He'll need to take it easy for the next four to six weeks. It's a long recovery process, but he will be able to live a normal life. I would strongly recommend that you get him annual flu vaccines and keep up to date with all the vaccines he needs. The pneumonia vaccine is important as well. I'll get all the information you need about vaccines to you by tomorrow morning. I want to have him on a round of antibiotics for at least the next two months while he recovers. I'm going to give you a prescription to get an extra bottle after those two months. I would keep them on hand in case anything happens where an infection may be possible. If he cuts himself bad or gets a virus, I want him on the antibiotics immediately. If you notice he's getting more sick than usual, keep him on the antibiotics and see a doctor to get more. As he grows older, he'll need the antibiotics less and less. Do you have any questions?"

"Can I see my son?"

The doctor said they could and motioned for them to follow him. John picked Sammy up into his arms and followed the doctor to the room that housed his eldest son. Caleb was not far behind them as they made their way through the hospital.

Dean's skin was as pale as eggshells and blended into the stark white sheets that resided under him. Sam squirmed in his arms when he saw his big brother. John let the kid slip from his grasp and run towards Dean. He struggled to get up on the nearest chair, tucking his legs underneath his body. John called out for him to be careful of the IV that was situated below his right elbow. Leaning his upper half onto the bed, he grabbed his brother's shoulder and shook him gently. John closed the space between him and his sons. He laid a hand on Sammy's shoulders. The tiny boy looked up, unshed tears swimming in his eyes.

"Daddy, he's not awake," he said in a cracked voice.

"He will be," he reassured his son. "He's just sleeping now. Let him sleep for a little bit longer."

Sammy nodded his head as the tears slipped from his eyelashes. He lowered his upper body onto the bed, his head rested next to his brother's right side. His tiny hand reached out and grasped his brother's bigger hand. His finger laced with his brother's as they laid in silence.

John took a seat next to Sammy. His elbows rested on his knees as he fingers laced together in a prayer motion. Instead of praying, however, he rested his chin onto his hands and watched his two sons. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders at the sight of Dean out of surgery.

Caleb took a seat on the other side of the bed. His gazed wandered from Dean's face down to his arm where Sammy's head was lying. His gaze rested finally on John.

"You ever go hunting with your dad?" John asked as his gaze never left Dean's face.

"Uh… no," Caleb responded. "He was in the army, real fucking hardass. He ran our house like we were all soldiers. I couldn't even imagine what he'd be like on an actual hunt."

John nodded, silently cursing that he ever allowed Dean to do recon with him in the woods. Ten years old was way too young to get entangled into hunting. How had he not seen that earlier?

"You remind me of him a little bit," Caleb continued. "You got that whole military, I'm the leader so do as I say not as I do vibe."

"Did your father ever ask you to go hunting with him?"

"No, never."

"Smart man," commented John.

The conversation died as John willed for his son to wake up. He wanted nothing more than to talk to him and ensure that he was all right. Most of all, he wanted to tell him how sorry he was for ever letting him step foot in those woods.

* * *

><p>Across town, a brawny, dark haired man slammed the door to the beat up pickup truck forcefully. His dark eyes glanced over at his best friend since second grade. Snatching the shotgun out of his friend's hand, he marched into the cabin they were staying at.<p>

"Look, it's no big deal, Ev," his friend called.

"You shot a fucking kid," he snapped back. "I would bet my ass that guy was a hunter. That's the last thing we need, a fucking hunter looking for us because we shot his bratty kid."

Ambling into his bedroom, he opened the closet and pushed his clothes to either side. Opening the hidden back compartment, he propped the gun up against the wall of weapons. His friend walked into the room, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Probably not a hunter. Who would bring their kid with them?"

"I don't know, Kevin, but I sure as hell don't want to be bothered by him."

"We could take him," he said with a smirk. "I'll just shoot him like I shot his brat."

Snapping the closet shut, he turned towards Kevin with a scowl on his face. He felt like it had been centuries of his buddy fucking everything up and him cleaning up the messes. An injured kid was nearly the straw that broke the camel's back of their friendship. If that kid died, he was through with Kevin and his reckless behavior.

"I don't want this to turn into another Tulsa mess," he snapped.

"Listen, Ev, calm down. That bitch had it coming to her in Tulsa."

"Yeah, okay, Kevin."

"You know what? Get off your high horse, Sir Jacob Everett. You make it seem like you're a fucking prince and I'm the trashy commoner."

"I believed you after what happened to Becky and followed you on this crusade! So don't patronize me!"

"Oh, you want me to grovel at your feet and thank you for becoming a hunter with me? Thank you so so so _so_ much!" Kevin replied with sarcasm dripping off his every word.

"Get the fuck out! I'm going to do some research on this hunt so we can finish it and get the hell out of dodge before someone connects us to that kid."

Kevin sneered and slammed the door shut on his way out of the room. Jacob grabbed his journal off the nightstand and hurled it at the door. Running a hand through his hair, he swore under his breath.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! I must say, I am overwhelmed with the amount of people who have put this story on their favorite and/or story alert list. Thank you so much! Please, don't forget to review as well! As a side note, I am not a doctor or in any way, shape, or form part of the medical community. Therefore, if any of the information is wrong, I am deeply sorry! I researched the topic a lot, so I would hope I got most of it accurate. Again, thanks for the positive responses. :)


	3. Collapse

"**Albatross"**

"**Chapter Three: Collapse"**

**Western Pennsylvania**

**November 16, 1989**

John shrugged off his leather jacket and laid it across his youngest. Sammy stirred slightly, his left cheek resting on the bed so he could see his father. A sniff escaped his nose as his tiny hand reached out for John to hold. He took it without hesitation as a tight smile crossed his features. Caleb propped his feet up at the end of Dean's bed and crossed his arms over his chest. The three sat in silence as they waited for Dean to wake up.

Five minutes later, a groan escaped Dean's pallid lips. Sammy jerked up, his eyes wide with relief that his big brother was waking up. He whispered his brother's name, his hand gently shaking his shoulder. When he only got a moan in response, the child shook harder and said his brother's name louder in hopes of actual words.

Dean opened his eyes completely, blinking several times to get the room into focus. His younger brother lingered directly above his face and blocked his view. Dean reached out a shaky hand and gripped Sammy's arm. He tugged the little boy out of his view and motioned for him to lie down next to him. The kid snuggled into his brother's side, his curly head resting on top of Dean's chest and tiny hand gripping his wrist.

Licking his lips, Dean saw Caleb first and rolled his eyes. Turning his head to the other side, he saw his father leaning forward in his chair. Reaching out a hand, John clamped a hand down on his son's knee in hopes of reassuring the boy.

"Why'd you let Caleb come?" asked Dean in a hoarse voice. "The shrinks will lock 'im away for good if they see 'im."

"Look at you," teased Caleb with a grin, "you're like six and taking being shot like a champ. I'm impressed."

"I'm ten," Dean said sleepily as his fingers idly played with his kid brother's fine hair.

"Nah, I don't believe it. You hit like a six year old and whine like a little bitch," he replied as his smirk grew wider.

John leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Dean's face. A wave of relief washed over him to see him bickering with Caleb like usual. Caleb liked to tease the youngest Winchesters. Dean took it in stride and usually partook in the playful banter. Sammy took it to heart and usually got his big brother to be his backup.

"Funny… I was gonna say the same thing to you," Dean murmured, his eyelids heavy.

"I'm six!" Sam spoke up proudly.

"No, you're not. You're just a _baby_. You're what? Two?" teased Caleb.

"Sure acts like it," Dean chimed in with a weak smile.

Sammy huffed, his head shooting of his brother's chest. He shot a look to his father, his bottom lip protruded out in a pout. Whenever Dean and Caleb gained up against him, which wasn't often, he turned towards his father for help. John always obliged.

"Leave Sam out of your antics," John said with a smile gracing his stubbly face. "He's six."

"See!" the child said victoriously and stuck out his tongue out the hunter.

"Your dad is as old as Methuselah," commented Caleb as John snorted. "He's so senile that his opinion doesn't matter."

Sam's mouth opened wide, his brow furrowing. There was something much more drastic at stake now than proving he wasn't a baby. There were two words that Sammy did not comprehend and would no doubt push until he learned what they meant.

"Don't be a dork, Sammy," Dean said as he tugged the small child to lie down next to him again.

"But… _Dean_," the kid protested as he snuggled into his brother's good side. "What does Met-met-a-hula and senile mean?"

"It means you ask too many questions," replied Dean as he closed his eyes.

"Caleb…" Sammy looked up at him.

"Methuselah was some ancient guy who lived to be 900 years old," he explained.

"That's not possible. Nobody can be that old!" the child protested diligently with a frown. "You're lying."

"Dean's right, you're such a dork."

Sam sat up in the hospital bed, his mind clearly on learning. John stayed out of the conversation. He was just glad to see the three of them fighting and teasing like normal. Truth be told, John was too tired to partake in the conversation. He was emotionally and mentally exhausted over the events that had unraveled.

"Am not!" the smallest Winchester protested. "Pastor Jim says I'm gifted."

"Dude, gifted and dork are interchangeable," announced Caleb.

Sam's brow furrowed slightly at the new word but did not question what it meant. John noted the scowl on his youngest face and knew he had somewhat deduced what the context of the word was – or at least knew it wasn't exactly a good thing that Caleb had said.

"You're just mad 'cause Pastor Jim says you don't have a lick of sense half the time."

Caleb let out a scoff as he stared at the little boy in front of him. He pointed to the boy, his eyes locked on John as though to tell him that his son had finally come up with a good comeback in their bicker matches.

"That was a good one, Sammy," Dean murmured as his eyes remained closed.

"I have more sense than your big brother does," he retorted with a smile dancing on his features. "I've never been shot."

"That wasn't his fault," protested Sam. "Daddy says you're a bad in-fu-ence."

"Ouch, Johnny, I'm a bad influence?"

A hand clenched the spot where Caleb's heart would be, a mock hurt look crossing his features. A chuckle escaped John's lips and prepared himself to be apart of the ongoing conversation of bickering and teasing.

"You tried to give my son skin magazines last year," replied John.

"He asked if he could borrow them! I just obliged. I wasn't going to deprive him of his manly needs."

"He was nine at the time, Caleb."

"Don't tell me you weren't that old when you grabbed a few," the younger hunter replied with a wink.

"Don't 'courage him," Dean murmured. "He goes into details 'bout the past."

John chuckled. When Dean was smaller, he would ask for stories. Since John wasn't really a creative kind of guy, he usually just retold stories from when he was younger. He tried to keep his teenage yours PG even though they were anything but PG.

"I can only imagine the tales of young John Winchester," commented Caleb. "I bet Dean has some great blackmail material on you."

"Like you'll ever hear any of those stories," retorted John.

"I'll tell ya on your birthday," Dean spoke up sleepily.

"Sammy, why don't you get off the bed and let your brother sleep."

The child raised his head off his brother's chest. Dean did not protest when his brother got off the hospital bed. He crawled into his father's lap and snuggled against his father's chest. John wrapped his arms around the small child and rested his chin on his mess of hair.

* * *

><p><strong>Lincoln, Nebraska<strong>

**November 16, 1989**

Irene Lyons tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear as she looked through the folders in her filing cabinet. She pulled out the dossiers of the hunters that she had formed a close relationship with and figured they would be more forthcoming about information on a fellow hunters' whereabouts.

As she pulled the files, a phone rested between her ear and shoulder. The line rang a few times before a gruff male answered.

"Bobby, it's Irene."

_"What happened to Caleb?"_

Irene faltered, gripping the phone in her right hand and sighing. Bobby Singer had been her brother-in-law's mentor into the hunting world. Caleb had only been nineteen at the time and convinced that hunting was the job he wanted in life. Irene pointed him in the direction of Jim Murphy who had ultimately assigned Bobby as his mentor. Six years later, he was still looking out for Caleb like a little brother.

"I'm not calling about Caleb," she said as she lazily opened her file on Bill Harvelle. "He's with John."

_"I'm surprised he likes hunting with John. He's sort of a control freak."_

"He is, but you can't deny he has a certain charm about him."

Bobby snorted at the comment but said nothing on the topic. It was no secret amongst their circle that Irene often jumped to John's defense. She understood the trials and tribulations of watching a spouse be killed under supernatural circumstances, knew that being a single parent was harder than it looked. When everyone would jump down John's throat for the decision he made, Irene and Jim were the only ones to come to his defense.

_"What do you need, Irene?"_

"Do you know anyone hunting in the western Pennsylvania region? A woods gig."

_"No, I don't. Why are you asking?"_

Irene debated for several moments on telling Bobby the truth. He was close to both John and Caleb. He saw Dean and Sammy as his nephews. He would do anything for those boys. To know Dean had been shot, he would no doubt help her find out who was in the area. Except, Caleb said to keep it on the down low and tell nobody why she was searching. If the wrong person found out what they were doing, there would be consequences from the hunter's buddies.

"I'm just doing someone a favor."

_"Those kind of favors are suspicious."_

"It's nothing Bobby," she replied with a frown.

"Mom!" a childish voice rang throughout the house.

Irene turned towards the door to her office. She refrained from calling out to her daughter. Inquiring about hunters _was_ a dangerous gig. They kept to themselves and didn't appreciate gossip circulating about them. Hunters had a close group of friends – akin to a high school clique. They protected their own and didn't like other groups sniffing around their business. The only reason Irene agreed to sniff around was because of Dean. If a hunter had shot her ten-year-old daughter, she would naturally expect John to do the same thing for her.

_"It's dangerous, Irene."_

"That's why I called you first," she replied.

_"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with John would it?"_

"Why would you think that?"

_"Because Caleb was supposed to be hunting with Jefferson in Ohio. Now, you tell me he's with John. John only calls in backup when he's in-between a rock and a hard place."_

The door to the office burst open. Kenley stood in the doorway, her hands bracing the frame on either side of her. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, an expectant look plastered across her features. Irene waved her hand at her daughter, telling her to shoo. Kenley pouted before turning around and stomping off.

"It has nothing to do with him," she lied.

_"Asking questions about hunters only gets people killed. You and John both know that, but he acts like doesn't know shit from Shinola. He only cares about himself. You need to stop carrying a torch for him before it hurts you."_

"I'm not asking for a lecture, Bobby. I know even on a good day that you and John are at each other's throats for some reason or another," snapped Irene. "This isn't about him; and if you don't want to help, then fine. I got to go."

Slamming the phone down on the receiver, Irene let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. After a few moments, she picked the phone back up and dialed another familiar number. Turning her head to the right, her neck cracked loudly as she listened to the ringing on the other end.

_"Harvelle's Roadhouse. This is Ellen, what can I do for ya?"_

The two had met a couple years previous and immediately bounded over the common fact that they both had young daughters. Ellen knew and respected what Irene did for the hunting community and was always willing to give any information she could with no questions asked.

"Ellen, it's Irene. I got a favor to ask of you that's just between us gals…"

* * *

><p><strong>Western Pennsylvania<strong>

**November 17, 1989**

The next morning, Caleb took Sammy down to the cafeteria for some breakfast and to grab some snacks. On their way back, they were going to pick up John a cup of coffee. He barely slept the night before, partly because his youngest had used him as a bed, and he needed the caffeine to keep going. Jim always said he had an unhealthy addiction to caffeine and relied upon it as though it were a lifeline. Honestly, he could never argue with the pastor about that.

All night he watched the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest as he sleep peacefully. Caleb had stayed the whole night was well, feet propped up on the bed and arms crossed over his chest with his coat acting as a pillow. No matter how hard he tried to catch a few hours of shuteye, he found himself opening up his eyes and just staring at his sons as though he were afraid they would disappear during his slumber.

Ever since Mary had died, he was constantly afraid of losing his sons. Without them, he would no longer have the will to live. They were his life, his everything. When he watched Mary burst into flames on the ceiling, he had felt dead inside for the longest times. Weeks had passed in a blur of alcohol. The only thing that had snapped him out of his binge had been his sons.

"Dad…"

John blinked several times, jolting himself out of his daydreams. Running a weary hand over his features, he glanced up at his son who looked unnaturally pale with pebbles of sweat sliding down his forehead.

"When can we leave?" asked Dean with a grimace appearing on his face.

"I dunno. We'll ask the doctor when he comes to check on you. You okay?"

"Fine," he wheezed.

Narrowing his eyes, John leaned forward and reached out a hand. Careful not to disturb the IV, he gripped his son's smaller hand into his own. Dean always tried to pretend that he was never hurt, sick, sad, upset, anything. He tried to mask everything with a stoic bravado. Except, the act never worked on John or Sammy. They always saw straight through his act.

"Seriously, Dean, what's going on?"

The kid sucked in a deep breath of air, which only made him grimace more. His free hand gingerly gripped his side, right above where his spleen had once been. His eyes grew wide in panic as he frantically turned his head to look at his father.

"Dad," he gasped. "I can't… breathe."

"What do you mean you can't breathe?"

John was out of his chair in a split second. His free hand brushed his son's sweat drenched locks off his sticky forehead. Dean's eyes skewered shut and his grip tensed in his father's hand.

"Hurts…" he murmured as tears appeared in his eyes.

John's hand flew off his son's forehead and hit the panic button on the wall behind the bed. The alarm sounded as Dean struggled to breath. Within a minute, three nurses and a doctor flooded into the room. The doctor, who looked like he was fifteen, placed the ear buds to his stethoscope in his ears. The round, metal disk connected with Dean's chest.

"He said he couldn't breathe!"

The doctor listened intensely without saying anything. John's eyes flew frantically from his son's pale face to the doctor. After listening to each side of his chest twice, the doctor stood up.

"Page Doctor Moore! I'm taking him for an x-ray!"

"What's wrong with my son?" demanded John.

The doctor stepped back and motioned for the nurses to move Dean. The kid tightened his grip on his father's hand and pleaded with his eyes for his dad not to leave him.

"I think his right lung has collapsed," the doctor explained.

"You think?

"Dad!" Dean gasped as the nurses motioned for John to step away from the bed.

"We're going to get an x-ray of his chest to make sure before we decide the next course of action."

John's mind reeled as he started to walk with the nurses and doctor. It always seemed like it was one thing after another. It was bad enough that Dean had been shot and lost his spleen but now his lung had collapsed as well. His eldest was a strong kid, a fighter, but John didn't think he could take much more.

"Can I be there with him?" questioned John.

"We'll take good care of your son," the doctor replied. "I'll come talk to you right after the x-ray."

The bed stopped rolling and the doctor smiled apologetically as he silently told John that he could go no further. Giving Dean's hand a squeeze, he forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his own features. Dean's grip loosened in defeat and he was quickly rolled through the double doors. John covered his face with his hand, a dry sob escaping his throat.

"Daddy?" a small voice piped behind him.

Turning around, vision blurry, he saw his youngest son standing next to Caleb Lyons' with his hand gripping the man's larger hand. A frown was etched on his face as tears tickled his own eyes. Breaking away from the hunter, Sammy ran as fast as his little legs would carry him to his father. Crouching down, John picked his youngest up and held him tightly in his arms. Burying his face into his messy curls, he stood in the middle of the hallway with his son as they both silently let their tears fall.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Please, don't forget to leave a review before going off to read another story. :) Reviews keep me writing!


	4. Steel, Nails, and Puppy Dog Hair

"**Albatross"**

"**Chapter Four: Steel, Nails, and Puppy Dog Hair"**

John didn't know how long he sat on the uncomfortable couch in the surgical waiting room. His elbows rested comfortably on his knees and allowed his head to be buried in his hands. It felt like days had passed just waiting for information on his eldest son. Next to him sat Sammy whose arms were wrapped around his right arm. The kid's head lay gently on his upper arm. Sammy didn't say anything and didn't move – two attributes that were hard to find in the tiny boy.

Footfalls sounded in the distance and Sam immediately untangled himself from his father. Standing up, he scurried towards the pastor at full speed and shouted his name. It was the first sound he had made besides sniffs ever since he found out Dean was back in surgery.

The pastor knelt down and scooped the child up into his arms. The Winchester children may not have a lot of blood relatives, but they had a whole extended network of friends who were considered just as good, if not better, than blood. At the top of the totem poll was Jim Murphy. They never got the chance to meet either one of their grandfathers, but Sammy always said that he suspected they would treat them just like Pastor Jim did. John thought the comparison was hilarious, because he was only four years younger. Jim's premature gray hairs did not help Sam see him any differently.

"Where's Dean?" Jim asked as he inched closer to the younger hunters.

"Uh, he had to have another surgery," Caleb spoke up when John merely shook his head.

"What happened?"

"The bullet lodged into his spleen, so they had to remove it. Then, I dunno, I guess one of the risks of spleen removal is a collapsed lung. They're assessing the damage now – maybe put in a little balloon and inflate it."

"Dean's gonna have a balloon in him?" Sammy piped up, his brow furrowed.

Throughout their short stay in the hospital, Sam had not been sat down and had the situation explained to him. John knew he should have sat him down and answered all his questions to make him feel better. Except, John just didn't have the energy to deal with the tiny boy. His whole world felt like it was crashing in on him.

"No, Sam, Caleb is spinning tales again. That's not how they deal with a collapsed lung," explained Jim.

"What do they do then?"

Sammy's fingers played with the pastor's collar absentmindedly, his bottom lip sliding in-between his baby teeth. It was a telltale sign that the child was scared. Anytime his bottom lip disappeared, Dean and his father were always there to reassure him and tell him everything was going to be all right. Except, his brother was in surgery and his father was too distracted by stress to take notice.

"Honestly, I don't know, Sam."

"But… but you know everything," the child said in a confused tone.

"Why don't you and Caleb go get something out of the vending machine to snack on so I can talk to your dad?"

Jim lowered Sammy onto his feet. He looked up at Caleb expectantly, his right hand stretched out for the hunter to take. With a sigh, Caleb stood up and grasped the boy's hand into his own. Once they were out of earshot, Jim sat down next to his friend and let out a sigh.

"Have you explained to Sammy what is going on?"

"No," he replied hoarsely. "I've been a little preoccupied thinking about my other son in surgery for the past two days."

John gave Jim a pointed look before glancing around the waiting room. There was a young woman across the room. Her long fingernails drummed on the armrest and her eyes followed every doctor with hope shining in them. Nurses scurried about their business and chatted to each other as well as the doctors.

"Would you mind if I talked to him?"

"Knock yourself out."

Down the hallway, Caleb and Sam stood in front of the vending machines. The child held the hunter's hand in a death grip as he surveyed the goodies behind the glass. He didn't say anything as he studied each treat and debated silently what he wanted. Caleb let out a sigh as the process was taking entirely too long.

"What do you want, Sammy?" Caleb asked as he dug through his jean pockets for change.

"Um… Oreos."

There was a packet of six Oreo cookies in the bottom row. Throwing three quarters into the machine, he punched the number and watched the cookies fall from their spot. Sammy crouched down and dug around for the Oreos. With the package clenched in his hand, he looked up at Caleb expectantly.

"What?"

"I need milk."

"Dude, you do not need milk. Eat them plain."

"I can't."

"I've seen you eat them without milk before, Sam. Don't be difficult."

The pastor came ambling over to the two, his eyes focused on the child whose eyes were instantly filled with tears. Caleb didn't have to look at the pastor to know that he was getting a dirty look. Honestly, he didn't do anything to the kid. Sam was always more difficult than Dean to care for. Sam liked things a particular way, liked to have things exactly the way he wanted them. Dean, on the other hand, took what you gave him and rarely fussed. The only people who had enough patience to put up with Sam's high demands were Dean and Pastor Jim.

"But… Dean _never _eats them without milk."

No longer was Sam being difficult or defiant. He wanted to keep his brother's tradition even when he was gone. Caleb could not deny the kid the simple comfort of eating Oreos the way Dean did.

"Fine, we'll get you some milk."

"First," the pastor interjected, "why don't we have a talk?"

Pastor Jim led the two into the hospital chapel. Sliding into the second from last row, Caleb got in first, followed by Sam, and Pastor Jim took the end. Sammy brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them closely. The packet of Oreos clenched in his left fist.

"Your brother was hurt very badly," Jim started. "I know you're really scared, but the doctors are doing everything they can to make him better."

"Is Dean gonna be okay?" Sam asked with tears shining in his eyes. "Daddy said he's in surgery."

"Well, Sammy, sometimes, people have to get surgery to feel better. Dean wasn't feeling one hundred percent after his first surgery, so he needed another surgery to feel better," the pastor explained. "Remember last year when you got sick? You had surgery on your throat?"

A year previous, Sam had come down with a bad case of Bacterial Tracheitis, which caused him to have a Tracheotomy. It had shaken the small family tremendously and seemed to be the start of their bad luck when it came to hospitals.

"Yeah, I got to eat ice cream for every meal for a week," the child explained. "We stayed with Caleb too, and that's when Dean stopped thinking Caleb was lame."

"Dean thought I was lame before? Why?"

The child turned towards the hunter with a knowing look. Caleb nudged him gently in his side to get him to spill the details. Sam couldn't keep a secret to save his life, except when it came to a secret Dean told him. Then, his lips were wired shut.

"'Cause he did," Sammy replied. "He thought you were less lame when you showed him your naughty mag'zines. Then, he thought you were epic when you gave him a talk about sex."

"You gave Dean a sex talk? How old was he? You didn't tell Sam anything, did you?" the pastor asked aghast.

"I had to go to the other room and count to hundred with my hands over my ears," he explained in a serious tone. "Caleb told me to count slowly, 'cause I learned how to count to hundred real fast, 'cause Dean taught me."

"No wonder John thinks you're a bad influence."

"Yeah, well, apparently, you think I don't have a lick of sense as well," Caleb added with a sneer. "The lies you and John tell these boys about me."

Sam shifted in his seat, his legs gravitating towards the ground. Absentmindedly, they swung back and forth. The cookies lay idly beside him.

"So, Dean's gonna be okay?" questioned Sam in a childish tone.

"Of course, he will," replied Caleb instantly. "He's made of steel and nails and-"

"Puppy dog hair!" Sam chimed in with a small smile.

"Yeah, and puppy dog hair," he replied as he rolled his eyes. "He's made of the best stuff in the whole world."

"Like Oreos and Scabetti-ohs and Lucky Charms."

"Dude, I thought you hated Spaghettios."

Sam shook his head in the negative, his already mess of hair tangling up even more. He turned towards Caleb with a serious look plastered across his face. It took everything the hunter had in him not to laugh.

"I don't like Scabetti-ohs when Daddy's not home, 'cause Dean makes them _every_ night."

"That's because your brother is a terrible cook."

"I like when we stay with you or Pastor Jim or Irene or Bobby when Daddy's working," admitted Sam.

"Speaking of your dad, I'm going to go see how he's doing," Caleb said as he stretched.

Sam nodded his head, his bottom lip sliding between his baby teeth once more. He looked up at the hunter with wide, innocent eyes.

"Caleb?"

"What?"

"Pinky swear that Dean's going to be okay."

Holding out his pinky, Sammy waited patiently for the promise to be sealed. Without hesitation, Caleb locked pinkies with him with a grin plastered across his face.

"Stay close to Pastor Jim or else, you know, the baby snatcher will get you."

Their pinkies broke contact. Sammy's eyes grew wider, a frown etched onto his face. Unconsciously, he scooted closer towards Jim. Caleb ignored the hard look he was receiving from the pastor.

"I'm not a baby…" the child said with confidence.

"The baby snatcher goes after anyone under seven. You don't quite make the cut, squirt."

"_Caleb_," the pastor warned.

"What does the baby snatcher do?"

The kid's lip found its way securely between his baby teeth as he stared up at Caleb with large, chocolate doe eyes. The hunter merely grinned as he leaned close to the little boy to whisper his answer.

"You see, not all mommys and daddys can have babies. When they can't have one, they call on the baby snatcher to get them a child. So, the baby snatcher roams the hallways of hospitals looking for little kids who wander off from an adult. He snatches them and takes them to go to a new home."

"I don't wanna go to a new home!"

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," the pastor said gently as he shot the younger hunter a disapproving look. "Caleb is just being... well, Caleb."

Lightly, he punched the six year old in the shoulder before making his way out of the pew. Entering into the waiting room, he immediately saw John where they left him. Hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands, the man looked like an utter wreck. Caleb couldn't really blame him.

Taking a seat next to him, John looked up at his friend. Caleb didn't say anything at first. Instead, he watched the nurses move about doing their job.

"You know, if I'm going to hang around here, I might as well try to hook up with one of the hot nurses."

"You're like the little brother I never wanted, you know that, right?" replied John.

"I was an awesome little brother. You should be jealous that you never had the privilege."

"I never minded being an only child."

"No wonder you're an adult loner."

John paid no attention to the younger hunter. Instead, his gaze was focused on the two police officers who had just entered the waiting room. He recognized them from the day before. He elbowed Caleb in the side to let him know they had company.

"Mister Winchester, do you mind if we ask you a few more questions about your son's shooting?"

"Sure."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you or your son?"

In the hunting gig, it was easy to accumulate enemies. Luckily, John stayed out of the affairs of other hunters. He could care less about what they did as long as they did the job. The only person who sprung to mind that would want to hurt his boys was Daniel Elkins. The guy had told him five years ago that he needed to ditch his kids if he was serious about hunting. If John didn't want to ditch them, than he would take care of them. He never questioned what kind of taking care would have been done. He collected his boys and stormed out of the house. Except, after all these years, he couldn't see Daniel hurting his son.

"No, I don't," John decided to settle with.

"Do you know anyone who owns a shotgun?"

"You're saying the bullet that was found in my son was a shotgun round?"

No wonder there was such extensive damage to the spleen that they couldn't repair it. No wonder Dean's lung had collapsed. A sigh escaped John's lips as he just shook his head in the negative.

"What kind of shotgun was it?" inquired Caleb.

"Who are you again?" the officer asked with narrowed eyes.

"I'm a US Marshal."

"Aren't you a bit young to be a marshal?"

"Wow, man, I gotta say I'm a little flattered, but I don't swing that way," Caleb announced with a wide grin as John rolled his eyes. "Would you happen to believe it that Johnny and I were in 'Nam together? I aged gracefully while you see my friend didn't fare that well. I like to think it's because of my cheery disposition."

"If you want that information, you can come down to the station," the officer replied. "If you think of anyone who could have wanted to hurt you or your son, contact us."

The two officers walked away and headed towards the nurses' station. John turned towards Caleb, a knowing look plastered across his face. He didn't even need to ask the question. The younger hunter was already nodding his head in agreement.

"Caleb…"

"I'm on it."

The younger hunter stood up and dug through his jacket pocket for his keys. He made a motion to walk away but faltered. John glanced up at him, his chin resting on his folded hands.

"A collapsed lung is nothing," he commented. "Dean's going to be fine."

"Yeah…"

"I had one a few years ago. A broken rib punctured my lung and caused it to flatten like a pancake. They put some chemical on it to cause it to scar and close it. I turned out fine," Caleb explained with a weak smile. "Plus, his collapsed from surgery, which would be a hell of a lot easier to repair than it being punctured like mine."

"It happen on a hunt?" questioned John.

Caleb and John had started hunting around the same time. While John was in Manning, Colorado training with Daniel Elkins, Caleb had been in Sioux Falls, South Dakota training with Bobby Singer. Their first official hunt without the training wheels had been together. It was a woman in white.

"No, it was when the demon…"

Caleb trailed off and John didn't have to ask any more questions. He knew when the kid was sixteen that his older brother Dominic had been possessed by a demon and died. The details of what happened during the possession were anybody's guess. John never asked about it. To be completely truthful, he didn't care to know. Whatever had happened, it had been bad. Jim said he had never heard such a brutal entrance into hunting before. Jim and Bobby were the only hunters who got the full version of events.

"Get the brand of shotgun," John ordered.

"Aye aye, Captain. Don't worry, I will _even_ sleep with a receptionist to get the information if need be."

"You're a US Marshal. I don't think that'll be necessary."

"I go above and beyond the job description."

Caleb winked before leaving. John leaned back in the uncomfortable couch. Waiting was the hardest part about the whole ordeal. He could deal with Dean being hurt as long as he was on the road to recovery. The very thought of his son being unconscious on a cold table and being operated on was nearly too much to handle. Two surgeries in two days? It was unfathomable.

Nearly an hour later, Sam and Jim were still not back. Except, a doctor came ambling into the waiting room and walked straight for John. A soft, reassuring smile was painted across his lips. John stood up slowly, his legs shaking beneath him.

"Dean did fine. We inserted a tube between his ribs into his lung. This will allow the excess air to drain from the lung and help it re-expand."

"He's fine?" asked John with a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"He did very well in surgery. I have an intern in with him now; because as soon as he comes out of anesthesia, I want him up and walking."

"So, he had a collapsed lung before of his spleen surgery. What kind of complications can he have now?"

"There's always a risk of the lung collapsing again. Once a lung collapses, your risk of it collapsing again is definitely increased. I want to stress it is very important for him to never pick up smoking when he gets older."

"Can I see him? Can I be there when you have him walking?"

"Of course, you can. I want to warn you that there is a tube sticking out of his side to drain the fluid and get rid of the air pocket. He'll also need to wear special stockings on his feet while in the hospital until he's all healed up to prevent any blood clots."

"When can the tube come out?"

"Not until the lung is fully inflated. We'll ask him to do a lot of deep breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia and infection. These exercises will help inflate his lung fuller each time. Once the lung is fully inflated, we'll take out the tube and send him home. I would suggest continuing the exercises after you leave. They can only help."

John nodded, a hand running through his tuff of black hair. It felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted off his shoulders to hear that Dean was going to be okay.

"My younger son is with a family friend. He's about my height, a couple years older than me, has gray hair. Can you have someone find them for me? Take them to Dean's room?"

"I'll send a nurse on it right away. He's in the same room as before."

John gathered up his leather jacket and rushed towards the room where his son was. Upon entering, he saw Dean laying on the bed and stirring slightly. His eyes quirked open and locked onto his father. He raised a shaky hand and reached out for his father. John instantly closed the space between them and grasped the hand into his own with a tight smile gracing his features.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! I would say there are about three more chapters left of the story, so it is passed the halfway point! Don't worry, however, there is a sequel planned for this story. It features a lot of hurt John too. If anyone is interested, the story of Sam having Bacterial Tracheitis was written already for the series. It's called "Kid Gloves" if you wanted to read it. It's a short, four-chapter story that I wrote years ago. Anyways, please don't forget to leave a review! :) The nice ones I received thus far made this chapter a breeze to write, because I got so much motivation!


	5. The First Kill

"**Albatross"**

"**Chapter Five: The First Kill"**

Dean looked defeated, downtrodden as his big green eyes stared up at his father with exhaustion written clearly on his face. His breaths were deep and ragged as his tiny fingers curled tightly around his father's hand. The gesture unnerved John more than he was willing to admit. His oldest had always been strong, stoic. He never sought the comforts of affection or closeness when he was scared or upset. In that moment, in the hospital, Dean looked much younger than ten years old. In fact, he looked like the terrified four-year-old who held his baby brother close to his chest as he watched his home crumble into ash.

"Do you think you can sit up for me, Dean?" the intern asked gently.

Reaching out his other hand, he helped his son ease up into a sitting position. He scooted slowly towards the edge of the bed, his feet dangling over the edge. He sat there for a few moments, breathing in and out in long breaths. His pallid face glistened with sweat. Before he could attempt to walk, a childish voice screamed his name.

Turning around, John barely grabbed Sammy around the midsection and stopped him from plowing into his brother's arms for the comfort he so desperately wanted. A strangled noise caught itself in the child's throat as he struggled in his father's arms. John kept the child close to his chest, feeling his little puffs of breath tickling his neck.

"Dean," Sammy gasped through tears as he reached out a hand towards his big brother. "Caleb pinky promised you were gonna be okay, but he lies so I was worried he was lying."

Dean reached out a shaky hand and wrapped his fingers around his kid brother's sticky hand. A smile worked its way onto his face. All traces of weariness and defeat were sudden erased from Dean's features. If there was one person who could make him strong again, it was his kid brother.

"He just likes to tease you, Sammy," he explained in a gentle tone that was solely reserved for his brother.

"Are you gonna be okay?" he asked as his bottom lip slipped between his baby teeth.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Caleb said you were made of steel and nails," Sammy spoke softly with some signs of relief crossing his features.

"That's the best stuff on earth, little brother," Dean replied as John remembered his eldest and Caleb talking about what they would make the ultimate fighting robot out of merely a few months previous.

Sam's eyes glanced over his brother as though trying to find something wrong with him. His gaze lingered onto his side, a slit in the hospital gown and a tiny tube peeking out from his side.

"Why do you have a tube in your side?" inquired Sammy with nervousness clouding his eyes.

For the first time since Sammy came barreling into the room, Dean's gaze left his brother's face. He looked up at his father, not knowing exactly what to tell the kid. Hell, John doubted if Dean even fully understand what was happening to him.

"Dean was having trouble breathing," John spoke up as he tightened his hold around the child. "So they put a little tube into his lung to help him breathe."

"Will he have it forever?" he asked with his face scrunched up in confusion.

"Nah, just for a few days."

"We really need to get Dean up and walking," the intern interrupted gently. "Can we clear the room?"

John let Sammy slip from his grasp until his feet were planted onto the tiled floor. Immediately, a pout worked onto his face as his hand grabbed a clump of his father's shirt desperately. Big, chocolate eyes glanced up at him with tears welling in the corners.

"Sammy, go with Pastor Jim."

The pastor, who had lingered in the doorway, took a step into the room with a hand outstretched to the child. Sammy shook his head in the negative and tried to back away from his father and towards his brother.

"But, Daddy, I wanna stay with you and Dean," the child said as he stood his ground.

"Sam, not now. Just do as you're told."

Sammy's eyes flew to his big brother for help. Dean just frowned back but didn't say anything. John knew as much as Dean wanted his kid brother to stay, he would side with his father and try to get Sammy to leave without a lot of fuss. In that way, John could always rely on his eldest.

"_Deeeean_."

"I'll see you in a little bit," reasoned Dean.

John crouched down to Sam's level and rested his hands on his shoulders, forcing the child to look at him. It took everything he had in him not to snap at his youngest son. Sammy could be defiant and stubborn, especially when it came to his big brother. Patience was a trying experience when it came to the child, but John always seemed to keep himself in line while dealing with him. He knew, however, as the kid became older, it would be a harder task to accomplish.

Stomping his foot forcefully onto the ground, tears pouring down his porcelain features, Sammy exited the hospital room with the pastor. John and the intern helped Dean walk around the room. The intern taught them the deep breathing exercises that Dean should practice several times a day.

For the next few days, that is what they did. John would help Dean walk around the hospital room and do his breathing exercises with him. The color in his cheeks slowly began to creep back. The tiredness seemed to decrease as he animatedly talked to his brother and bickered with Caleb. Soon, he started to ask when he could get the stupid tube out of his side and go home.

While Dean got better, Sammy's mood towards his father did not improve. Sullen and upset that his father would banish him from his brother's side was the ultimate offense in the child's eyes. The two were as thick as thieves, as close as two brothers could be. John didn't have the energy to make up with his youngest. He spent his days helping Dean rehabilitate from his surgeries and spent his nights sleepless as he watched over his son to ensure no other lingering consequences from the surgeries crept up on them.

On November 22, Dean was doing amazingly well. He was essentially his old self again and the doctors said that they would take the tube out of his side the next morning. After the removal, he was to stay in the hospital for 24 more hours. If he did well, they would discharge him. Upon hearing the good news, John called Irene and hoped that she too had good news for him.

_"Jacob Everett and Kevin Rhodes," _the names rolled off Irene's tongue with ease.

"Are you positive? These two were the only two hunters in the area? Where are they now?"

_"I've been searching for six days, John, and their names are the only ones that pop up. As far as I can tell, they're still there. They're staying in some hunter named Ben's cabin."_

The piece of information did not make sense in the least. If he had, god forbid, shot a fellow hunter's child, he would have covered his tracks and got the hell out of dodge. There's no way he would linger around and wait for the hunter to gain his revenge.

"Thank you, Irene."

_"Hey, how's Dean doing?"_

"He's good. He's gonna be released on the twenty-fourth."

John kept the information of the hunters to himself as he tried to reason that these hunters could not have been the ones to shoot Dean. If they even had an inkling that they had shot someone connected with a fellow hunter, there's no way they would have stayed unless they were idiots or incredibly reckless. Making his way to his son's hospital room, he heard his eldest talking in quiet tones with his brother.

"Don't be so hard on Dad, Sammy," he reasoned. "You know how you were really scared when I was in surgery? Well, Dad was really scared too."

"But Daddy's never scared," the child protested. "Daddy's really brave and _never_ scared.

"Everyone gets scared sometimes, Sammy."

The following morning, when Dean went into yet another surgery to get the tube removed from his side, John found himself in the waiting room with his youngest cradled on his lap. No apologies were needed. No energy was invested on the mending relationship. Dean always knew what to say to fix the hurt feelings and little tiffs.

Caleb and Pastor Jim sat in the waiting room with the Winchesters. That's when John told them about Jacob Everett and Kevin Rhodes.

"It can't be these guys," reasoned John. "Who would be that stupid to stay in the same town?"

"Unless, they thought that's what you'd think," commented Caleb.

John narrowed his eyes at the younger hunter but said nothing. It would be the perfect ruse – stay in town and not run like the guilty party. He certainly fell for the trap, discarding them as innocent hunters. Caleb could be right though. They were deterring guilt from themselves.

"Dean gets out of the hospital tomorrow," John spoke aloud. "Tomorrow night, we'll go to the cabin and see if we can find the shotgun or any evidence that these guys were the ones who shot Dean."

"You just made all my dreams come true, Johnny," responded Caleb with a wide grin. "I've _always_ wanted to perform a B and E with you."

The following night, there was no car in the driveway, the lights were off, and everything was eerily quiet. The cabin had no neighbors for a good two miles in either direction. They were in the clear. Caleb stood behind John with his gun out as he surveyed the dark woods. John prepared himself to pick the lock but found it was already unlocked. Letting out a scoff, he opened the back door.

The two hunters entered into the kitchen. Caleb sliding his gun between the small of his back and the waistband of his jeans and took the lead in the investigation. John reached into his leather jacket pocket and pulled out a flashlight. After a week of barely sleeping, John was not in the mood to use kid gloves with Caleb and tell him what to do. The kid had been hunting for nearly six years and John knew his back was covered.

Hunters liked to keep stashes of gun. With no house to claim as his own, his own stash was locked away in a secret compartment in the trunk of the Impala. Caleb, who lived in his parents' old home, had his guns stashed in a hidden room in the basement. Jim favored the basement of his church. Irene kept her hidden in the back of her closet. Since the house was sans basement and usually hunting cabins kept the secret compartments in closets, they made their way to one of the bedrooms.

Going straight for the closet, he pushed aside the clothes on either end. In the back was the compartment he was expecting to find. Weapons of various makes and models littered the compartment until it was nearly overflowing.

"Caleb, over here."

The hunter made his way over to the closet. Upon seeing the vast range of weapons, he let out a whistle. Stepping into the closet, he reached forward to grab a shotgun that was propped against the wall. Discharging the bullets, he held one in his hand. John shined the flashlight over the bullet to inspect it.

"I'd say it looks pretty damn similar," commented Caleb.

"I need more than _pretty damn_, Caleb," John snapped.

"Whoa, Johnny, untwist your panties okay? I can't make a positive ID without comparing the bullets."

"I know that, but I want to be more than pretty sure about this."

"Look, the bullet they pried out of Dean was from this brand of shotgun. I can tell you that for sure. If it's the exact same gun… your guess is as good as mine."

There was a roar of an engine. Both hunters froze. Setting the shotgun down on the ground, they backed out of the closet and closed it as silently as they could. John motioned for Caleb to hide behind the bedroom door. He backed up slowly, grabbing his gun from between the waistband of his jeans and the small of his back. A car door slammed shut and footfalls sounded on the porch.

John knew that there were two hunters who were staying in the cabin. Except, there was only one set of footfalls approaching. John hung in the shadows, his back flush with the wall. Closing his eyes briefly, he hoped that the hunter who entered the house was staying in the other bedroom. He didn't really need a shit-show to go down.

A shadow appeared in front of the door. The door opened further and the light was flicked on. John came face-to-face with the hunter staying at the cabin. He swore mentally in his head.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man marched forward, closing the space between them. He was bigger than John in both muscle and mass. If he had to guess, the guy had a good eighty pounds on him. John only hoped that Caleb had enough sense to stay out of sight. He kicked off the wall and squared his shoulders ready to fight. Before he could register what happened, the guy's fist connected with his jaw in an uppercut.

The fist rammed into his face again and instantly, John tasted the irony tang of blood. Shaking his head to gain composure, he hurled a right hook and nailed the guy square in the jaw. He seemed unfazed by punch. The guy grabbed John by the shoulders and pushed him into the nearest wall. Then, out of nowhere, a knee connected with John's gut and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

John let out a grunt and threw his head back. It connected with the wall. Black dots filtered through his gaze as he briefly caught sight of the hunter's face. A smirk was plastered across his lips as his fist came out of nowhere and slammed into his jaw for a third time. John's legs were too weak to hold himself up any longer. Sliding down the wall to the ground, he hoped to holy hell that Caleb would step in and beat the living shit out of the guy.

The hunter's boot rose up in the air as though he were getting ready to stomp on John's chest when he heard it. A loud _bang!_ resonated throughout the cabin. John blinked and focused his attention on the bleeding body in front of him. Glancing upward, he saw Caleb standing in the center of the room with the smoking gun. His chest was heaving as his eyes were glued on the dead man in front of him.

The twenty-five year old looked shell-shocked to put it mildly. The kid liked to pretend he was a badass rebel, but John knew better. Caleb Lyon's was a scared kid who watched a demon possess his brother and then consequentially die at the raw age of sixteen. For nearly a decade, he had been wandering around the hunting world with a giant chip on his shoulder and a cocky attitude to mask his pain.

"Caleb, hey, Caleb, you with me?" John said hoarsely as he struggled into a standing position.

The kid's mouth was hanging open, his eyes as wide as saucers staring at the dead body before him. John slowly inched towards the younger man and wrapped a hand around the muzzle of the gun. Gently, he tugged it out of Caleb's hand. The kid didn't look at John, didn't even acknowledge him. His breath was ragged and uneven as he just stared at the body.

"I killed him…" he whispered.

"He shot Dean," John reasoned. "The guy's not entirely innocent."

There was a creak of a floorboard in the distance. Immediately, John knew the guy's buddy had been waiting in the car. Pushing Caleb into the shadows of the room, John stood in front of him with the murder weapon out.

There really wasn't a choice in the matter. The other guy had to die too. If not, Caleb would go to jail. Hell, John would probably go to jail. Where would that leave Dean and Sammy? They'd essentially be orphans. The truth of the matter was, these guys weren't even innocent to begin with. They had shot a ten-year-old boy. Dean could have died because of their trigger-happy fingers.

A shadow crept in the room. A hitch of a breath could be heard and a whisper of "Ev?" crossed the shadow's lips. John braced himself – just a few more steps into the room. The shadow shifted and an armed hand wafted into view. Two more steps into the room, and John's finger pushed back on the trigger. The guy was on the floor with a loud _thump! _with just one kill shot at point blank range.

"We gotta wipe our prints," John said in an even voice.

"Fuck, John! We fuckin' killed these guys!" Caleb protested as his hands racked through his blonde hair.

John reeled around. Shoving the gun between the small of his back and jean's waistband, he gripped Caleb's shoulders tightly. Shaking him, he tried to get the kid to snap out of it and get his head in the game. They had to clean their prints and get the hell out of dodge immediately.

"Listen to me, these guys were reckless hunters who shot a child. A child, Caleb! They weren't innocent guys. They probably have hurt more innocent people like Dean. If they hadn't, they would have. Reckless abandonment has no business being in the hunting world!"

"I fucking shot a man, John!" snapped Caleb. "I committed reckless abandonment! A man is dead!"

"Wipe your prints!" John barked. "Move! We don't have time for this!"

Caleb blinked a few times, his face as white as eggshells. John growled and started to wipe their prints on everything he thought they touched and a few other things just to be clear. His side was killing him, throbbing painfully. It hurt to breathe, but he didn't have time to even think about that. He needed to get them both out of there as quickly as possible. Halfway through the cleanup, Caleb snapped out of his stupor and helped wipe down the rest of the place.

Once they were done, John grabbed the kid's arm and steered him out of the bloodbath in the bedroom. They snuck out of the back door and hid in the shadows until they found the Impala a few blocks down. Sliding into the front seat of the Impala, he turned over the engine and Caleb slid into the passenger's seat. Driving away from the cabin, the two didn't say anything. It wasn't until ten minutes later that Caleb opened his mouth.

"Thank you."

"I had your back. That's what hunting partners do," John said as he shrugged it off.

"Have I ever told you that you remind me of Dominic?"

John's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Dominic was always a sore topic for Caleb to talk about. In fact, John had never even heard him say his name before. Glancing over at the younger hunter, John saw tears pouring silently down his face.

"No, you haven't," he replied as his throat suddenly went as dry as a desert as he adjusted his eyes back on the road.

"I think that's why I like to hang out with you guys so much. I know I'm like the little brother you never wanted, but you're like the big brother I lost," he said in a broken voice. "I really fucked up, John."

"Listen, Caleb, I get that you're young and this is your first kill. Those fuckers deserved to die though! You saw what they did to Dean, all the pain and suffering they put him through!"

"I just did it. I fucking just shot him. I didn't even think about it. I just pulled that trigger."

John remembered the first time he met Caleb Lyons. He had been nineteen years old and a cocky sonofabitch. He seemed to think he was Moses and that water would part in merely his presence. He was brave to a fault, making rash decisions in order to save an innocent life. In fact, on their second hunt together, Caleb nearly got himself killed to save a teenage girl during a hunt. He felt invisible, untouchable. His arrogant smirk was always plastered across his fair skin and sarcastic comments ready at the tip of his tongue.

In the Impala, on that fateful night he murdered a man, John saw a scared kid who was showered with guilt and scared out of his wits. The first kill is always the hardest. John could understand that more than anymore. He was eighteen and in a foreign country when he made his first kill. It had haunted him for months. Hell, years if he was being truthful.

"You saved my life back there, kid," John said in a soft voice that he reserved for when his boys were sick or injured. "You saved Dean and Sammy from becoming orphans."

"I could have jumped him. I could have punched the living shit out of him."

"He had a hundred pounds on you. You'd be lucky if you put a dent in him."

John knew that was only half true. Caleb may be a scrawny, tall kid, but he had the strength of a bull. He was fast and had one wicked right hook. If he had attacked the hunter, Caleb would have had a fifty percent chance of winning.

"It would have been easier if he were a monster," replied Caleb. "The supernatural… it's easy. Another person… I took a life, John. What if he had a wife? Kids? I killed a man. I'm no better than a demon."

John didn't know what to say to his friend. Caleb hated demons with a passion. Hated how a demon had possessed his big brother and forced him to hurt his family. Hated how the demon had ridden him so hard that his body was beyond repair when the demon was exorcised from his body. The rest of the car ride was driven in silence.

When they arrived back at the cabin the Winchesters' were staying at, Pastor Jim was sitting with the boys in the living room. Dean was lying across the couch with a stark white bandage peeking out from underneath his t-shirt. Sam was curled up on the pastor's lap in the old recliner.

"Dean, take your brother into the bedroom and try to help him pack. Sammy, I need you to really help your brother, okay? He's still hurt."

The boys slowly ambled out of the room, no words escaping their lips. Pastor Jim, however, stared at the younger hunters with worry casting in his gaze. John refused to look at the man, refused to admit to the events that had unraveled in the cabin. Glancing over at Caleb, the younger hunter looked like a small child who had been caught stealing cookies from the jar. He too adverted his eyes from the pastor's gaze and instead watched down the hallway where Sam and Dean had disappeared almost as though wishing for them to hurry the hell up and get back.

John just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. He wanted nothing more than to put at least five states between him and Pennsylvania. Who knew when the bodies would be discovered? Perhaps someone driving down the road heard the blasts of the guns or the owner of the cabin was going to meet up with them tonight. However they were discovered, he just hoped that their hunting buddies did not have a connection like Irene. If they did, him and Caleb would be visited with pissed off faces and wielding guns.

Author's Notes – The delay in posting the new chapter was due to the fact that I combined chapters five and six into one chapter. Therefore, I had to figure out what I was going to cut from each chapter to combine them. I did this because so many people were getting anxious to see the big showdown with the hunter who shot Dean and John. Chapter five was mostly Dean's recovery from his multiple surgeries, so that was the bulk of the cut. There is only the epilogue left, so please leave a review! The more reviews I get, the quicker the epilogue will be posted since it is mostly completed already. :)


	6. Epilogue: The Aftermath

"**Albatross"**

"**Epilogue: The Aftermath"**

John settled into the driver's seat and followed Caleb's 1985 cherry Ford Thunderbird. Every few minutes, he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Dean slumped in the back with his arm around his kid brother. Sammy was flush against his brother's side, his face buried into the folds of his hoodie.

It seemed like it had taken forever to get to Blue Earth, Minnesota. The exit could not have come any sooner. Dean and Sam were oddly silent in the back of the car. Dean sat up straight, never complaining about the pain in his side, or talking about the hunt that had gone bad. Sammy lay in various positions across the bench seat of the Impala with his head resting somewhere on his big brother. Idly, Dean twirled a piece of Sam's long brown curls in his fingers.

Pulling into the pastor's ranch house, they were greeted by a 1986 red Cherokee. Cutting the engine, he watched Irene Lyons exit the jeep with her ten-year-old daughter in tow. Immediately, he knew this was not a social call.

Exiting the Impala, John opened the back door and hauled Sam's small frame out. Once his youngest was on his feet, John reached in to help Dean out. The kid shrugged off the help and ambled out of the car slowly on his own.

"Dean!" Kenley Lyons yelled and burst into a sprint towards the Winchesters. "Sammy!"

"Kenley, be careful!" shouted Irene. "Dean's hurt!"

The girl faltered in her stride, her head cocking to the side at seeing Dean gingerly holding his side. She continued towards the Winchesters at a slower pace. She stopped short of Dean and looked him up or down to inspect the damage. Sam leaned into the older girl who immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Kenley Lyons was the closet thing they had to an actual friend.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I got shot," replied Dean with a smirk. "I think I'm officially a badass hunter."

Kenley merely rolled her eyes and glanced down at Sammy who was unnaturally quiet through the exchange. Catching Dean's gaze, she nodded her head towards the six-year-old. Dean merely shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Kenley, Dean, Sammy, why don't you three come inside with me," Pastor Jim called for the three. "I believe I may have some cookies in the kitchen."

"Oreos?" piped Sammy as he craned his neck to look at the pastor.

"I believe I may actually have some left over from poker night a few weeks ago," he replied with a smile.

Sammy broke away from Kenley's half embrace and scampered towards the pastor. Kenley and Dean were not far behind. Once they disappeared into the ranch house, Irene turned her attention to the two hunters in front of her.

"Does somebody want to explain to me why I'm getting phone calls asking why I was poking around about the Pennsylvania hunt? I've gotten nearly half a dozen calls from contacts asking me who killed Jacob Everett and Kevin Rhodes," Irene hissed frantically. "If I had known you were going to kill them, I never would have found them for you!"

"It was an accident," replied John. "We didn't go in there with the intent to kill."

He glanced over at Caleb who looked bone-deep in fatigue with deep circles under his eyes that looked like bruises in the bright sunlight. The younger hunter didn't say a word. Instead, he stood very still as though he was still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened. John knew the kid would never be the same again. In a matter of months, Caleb would become a hardened hunter.

"You did kill them though! You put your family in danger. You put _my_ family in danger!" Irene took a deep breath. "They have buddies looking for who did this. They have the first piece of the puzzle. I went looking for information!"

"What did you say to these hunters you called?" John asked evenly.

"I just asked if they were in Pennsylvania or knew anybody who was."

"Okay, so the answer is yes. What did you say then?"

Irene put a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes as though trying to remember what she said word for word. John stood there patiently and tried to be as calm as possible. Caleb was silently freaking out and Irene was openly showing her fears. Someone had to be the rational one.

"I asked where until I got the answer I needed."

"Did you tell anyone why?"

"No, I just said I needed to find someone in the area for something. I was vague."

"Okay, if anyone asks, say you were looking for someone in the area – a hunter friend who had gone missing. Say you wanted someone in the area to see if they could find them. They'll think whatever got your friend got their friend too," reasoned John.

"I don't know how you could do this to us," Irene whispered with tears in her eyes. "You put us all at risk. I'm starting to think Bobby was right about you."

"It wasn't John," Caleb spoke softly. "I shot one of the guys. John shot the other one to protect me."

John glanced over at his friend. Caleb was staring at Irene, an apologetic look plastered across his dark features. Irene's eyes soften slightly at the new information but didn't say anything.

"The one guy and John got in a fight. He was losing and instead of jumping the guy from behind like I should have to knock him out, I shot him. The other one had to die too or else…" Caleb sighed. "I put everyone at risk. We're all in danger, because I pulled the first trigger."

"How could you be so reckless?" asked Irene.

"He was a big guy," John jumped to Caleb's defense. "He had a good 80 pounds on me and a good 100 pounds on Caleb. He clipped me first, right in the jaw. I couldn't recover fast enough in the fight and the guy would have pounded me into the ground. I'm not condoning what happened there that night, but Caleb and I could have died. These guys were big, and they knew how to throw a powerful right hook. It was us or them."

Irene just nodded as though she were trying to convince herself that there was absolutely no other option. The three stood in the sunlight silently until Irene turned and walked into the house. John closed the space between him and Caleb. Clamping a hand down on his shoulder, he gave the kid a tight squeeze before entering the house as well. He knew that the conversation wasn't over. They needed to talk to Jim and figure out a course of action. He would know what to do to calm everything over.

First, he wanted to check in on his boys. Jim said he gave Dean his pain medication and sent the pair into the spare bedroom for some sleep. While Sam slept like a baby in the car, Dean failed to find a comfortable position to let sleep overcome him.

John opened the door to the bedroom door to see Dean lying on the bed with Sammy curled up next to him. The kid was being careful where he put his arm, conscious of where the surgery took place. Stepping into the room, he snapped the door shut quietly behind him. It caught Sammy's attention.

"Hey, how you boys doin'?"

"Good. Dean said he was sleepy," commented Sammy.

Sliding onto the bed, John cuddled his youngest close to him to give Dean room to move if need be. Reaching out a hand, he wiped a limp lock off Dean's forehead. The kid looked at him with sleep-coated eyes.

"You feeling okay?"

"Just tired," Dean responded.

"Daddy, will you tell us a story?" asked Sam as he leaned into his father's chest. "Dean said he was too tired to tell a story."

"Sure, what kind of story do you wanna hear about?"

The kid merely shrugged his shoulders. Dean was more of the storyteller in the family. He spun tales to Sammy on a weekly basis. They were always new, adventurous stories. Sometimes, John would stand outside their door and listen to the tales spill off his tongue with ease.

"Well, there were these two little boys named Jonathan and Jude."

"Those are mine and Dean's middle names!" Sammy rang. "Double J's!"

"J-squared," drowsily Dean spoke up.

John chuckled and ran a hand through Sammy's fine hair. Glancing over at his oldest, he could immediately see the pain medication settling in. His eyes were heavy as his chest began to raise and fall evenly.

"Is your middle name a J name? Can we be the three J musk'teers?"

"Sadly, we can't. My middle name is Eric."

"What's Pastor Jim's middle name?"

"Uh… I dunno, Sammy."

"How 'bout Caleb?"

The story was long forgotten as Sammy investigated the middle names of everyone close to them. John couldn't help but smile. It felt so good to know that both of his boys were all right. Dean was out of the hospital and Sammy was back to his vibrant self.

"I think it's Nigel."

"What about Kenley?"

"Um… Morgan?"

"What's Irene's?"

"I dunno hers."

"Daddy, can I ask you a question? You gotta promise you won't get sad."

John furrowed his brow slightly but didn't comment on it. He could only guess the next question out of his mouth was going to be about Mary's middle name. He mentally prepared himself for several seconds before responding.

"I promise I won't get sad."

"What was Mommy's name and middle name?"

John's heart nearly broke in half at the question as he did not fully prepare himself for the innocent question. His youngest son did not even know his mother's first name. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he croaked out the two syllables, "Mary."

"What about her middle name?"

"Jacqueline."

"She's a J…" Sammy trailed off. "Too bad you aren't a J, Daddy."

"My first name is a J. Doesn't that count?"

Sam tapped a finger on his lips, a look of concentration appearing on his childish features. It took everything John had in him not to burst out laughing. The kid was taking the middle initial thing way too seriously.

"I guess so," he decided.

"You _guess_?" John asked with a soft chuckle. "You're a little shit, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he said with a wide grin.

"Do me a favor and watch out for your big brother. You're in charge. I'm gonna go talk to Pastor Jim."

John leaned down and kissed his youngest on the forehead. Slowly, he eased off the bed so he wouldn't disturb Dean. He was half way to the door when Sam called out to him in his whispering voice, which was actually louder than his normal voice. Walking back to the bed, he leaned down until he was face-to-face with Sammy.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm really glad that Dean's okay," he _whispered_ as his fingers grabbed onto his father's unbuttoned flannel shirt. "I was really scared."

A lump formed in his throat as he stared down at the six year old. Jim always said that Sammy possessed an old soul, and John couldn't agree more with that sentiment. His youngest was a precocious child who seemed to know more than any child at that age should know. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He lived and breathed his big brother as though he were oxygen. Sammy wasn't Sammy unless he was with Dean. The kid would have been heartbroken without his big brother.

"It's okay to be scared," John replied in a thick voice, "but I want you to remember that I would _never_ let anything happen to you or your brother."

"I know," he said softly as his grip tightened on his father's shirt. "There was a lotta blood."

"Is that what bothers you about what happened?"

His bottom lip slid in-between his baby teeth. Slowly, he nodded his head in the positive. John dropped down to his knees and gently tugged his youngest off the bed. Cradling him in a hug, he kissed Sammy tenderly on the mop of his unruly curls.

"Do you want to hear a story about your mom?"

Sam twisted his neck to look up at his father. They never talked about Mary. Whenever Sam wanted to know something about his mother, he _always_ went to Dean, because he knew how much the topic upset his dad. The topic was a painful, gaping hole to John. He felt empty and depressed whenever he talked about her in the past tense. Except, in that moment, the very notion of Mary felt safe and secure. It felt welcomed in a way it had not been in years.

"Your mom loved angels," John said in a strangled voice. "She believed that angels were always watching over people. I think if angels exist, they would be our loved ones. Sometimes, I like to believe your mom's an angel watching out for us. So, I don't want you to be scared, Sammy, because I know your mom is watching out for you."

"Do you really think so, Daddy?"

"I really do."

After a quick peck on his son's cheek, John stood up, his back cracking loudly from fatigue and relief. Exiting the bedroom, he wandered into the kitchen to see Jim, Irene, and Caleb all waiting for him with steaming cups of coffee and pensive faces. There was a part of John that knew this was only the beginning of the ordeal.

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the story! I do have a sequel planned for the story entitled "Revolver" which takes place about a month after the events in this story. It follows two separate hunts, the fallout of the two hunters deaths, and a lot of hurt John. It is definitely a darker story and had more adventure. Before the sequel appears, however, I expect A LOT of reviews for this story! So many of added this story to their story alert and their favorite story lists and each chapter gets a lot of hits. However, there's a lack of reviews, so this is your last chance to give me feedback. Each chapter takes weeks of planning and days of writing. The least you could do is take a minute or two and write a review. As an incentive to review, if you ask for a preview of the follow up story in your review and you are logged into your account, I will send you a little excerpt from "Revolver" to tide you over until it is released. :) Thanks for reading everyone!


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